Reliance
by Lilleth Smith
Summary: After England is captured by Russia, he does a little thinking about his friends and allies. Strong lanugage, angst, hurt and a fluffy ending! Rated T for some swearing. One-shot USUK


"Help! Help!" His hoarse voice echoed in the damp dungeon and remained unanswered. He had been desperately trying for hours, but had only succeeded in getting himself better acquainted with the lingering silence in this God-forsaken place.

How long had he been here? There were no windows and the only source of illumination was a small flickering light bulb that threatened to give out at any second.

A small part of him wished he was in total darkness. The cell was filthy and rats scurried along the walls, taunting him with their freedom. He wished they would stop coming, it's not like he had any food to give. Russia only fed him twice a day. Usually it was just a thin brown soup that tasted like it had ripened in a trash can for a week. That or moldy bread.

England's ash blonde hair was even more disheveled than usual and caked with dirt and grime from the crumbling plafond above. His once forest green eyes could rival that of the most beautiful emerald, but had recently dulled to the color of dying grass. His proud jade uniform was now extremely tattered and completely soiled beyond repair.

Sadly, the most prominent feature he was sporting at the moment was his broken leg.

Even more revolting than his tarnished clothes or downcast appearance, was his broken right leg. It was bent the wrong way and swollen so horribly, he had had no other choice but to remove the leg of his pants entirely.

An unknown amount of time ago, Russia had broken into his house and forcibly whisked him away only to lock him in this make-shift prison, saying he had become one-with-Russia now. At first, England had done everything in is power to escape; he'd even managed to get away few times, but as expected, Russia had always managed to recapture him. It didn't help that every time England went outside, he'd get lost in the monstrous blizzards that seemed to rage for eternity here.

Finally, tired of playing cat and mouse, Russia had swung down his rusted pipe and cleanly broken England's leg.

Now he was trapped. Unable to walk, run, or make any sort of getaway, all he could do was sit in his cell and yell at no one in particular. His only (diminishing) hope was that one of his allies would come to his rescue.

Japan and China probably wouldn't try their luck against Russia because of how strong he was and how old they were. France was a total bastard and was most likely laughing at him right now. That left America. Knowing him, he probably didn't care.

His head snapped up in alarm as the door that led to this desolate place was thrown open and light flooded in, almost blinding him in the process.

Russia skipped down the stairs and stopped in front of the cell door with a bowl of foul smelling substance and a mocking grin plastered to his face.

"How are you feeling today? Are you hungry, da?"

"Not for your slop wanker!"

"Tut tut," he wagged his index finger as if scolding a small child, which only fueled England's hatred further. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to be rude to your host?"

"My mother taught me to not be polite to crazy kidnapping psychopaths!"

Russia grinned darkly and threw the bowl through the bars of the cell, splatting England with unknown substance. The bowl shattered against the concrete flooring and tiny shards of porcelain embedded into England's arm and bad leg.

He gasped in pain.

"Enjoy your breakfast, da?"

England growled at him like a feral animal.

Russia laughed again and turned to leave, but was stopped by a cold voice.

"Someone's coming for me you know! One of my friends, they're coming!"

He couldn't stand feeling so weak that all he could do propose empty threats. If he hadn't been injured, Ivan would be finding himself in a rather undesirable situation. Sadly, all he could do now was wait and hope for a rescue party.

When this was all over, Russia was most definitely going to pay.

(I'm randomly switching to first person now. Be alarmed. Be VERY alarmed)

I watched him through careful eyes, examining his body language, looking for any sign of another emotion besides that trademark smile he always had.

He seemed weary and almost nervous from his stiff posture and twitching fingers, but his face was, as usual, abnormally delighted.

"Ah but, no one is coming for you!"

"What? How could you know that?"

"It's obvious, da?"

"Obviously not, since I'm asking you. Git," I spat at him. His obliviousness reminded me of that block-head America.

What I wouldn't give to see those sky blue eyes smiling down at me right now…

"When I told China, he just shook his head and walked away. Japan too, but he muttered something about western cultures being odd. France laughed. He told me to have fun and you had it coming. I told him he was next and he ran away like baby."

I laughed despite the situation.

"America was most curious, da? He got really angry and demanded I let you go-"

I was wrong! America did care. Warmth bubbled inside me like the feeling you get after drinking coco during a snowstorm.

"-but I said 'no'. Then he looked at me long time, and then said 'screw it.' Then he storm off."

The warmth drained out, leaving me a cold empty shell again.

"Well…someone will come for me!"

This was so degrading! I was bloody Britain for God's sake! It was horrible being stuck here, unable to do anything. I had to totally rely on the support of others because I couldn't even walk on my own! It seemed that my only chance for freedom is if Russia somehow just let me go, which seemed completely unlikely.

He brought his spuriously happy face down to my level. He was so close that I could smell the vodka laced in his breathe.

"Oh, I don't think so. You're mine forever, da?"

I leaned away, disgusted totally. He cackled and turned to leave again.

As his loud footsteps echoed down the hall, I felt myself begin to relax again. This encounter hadn't ended well and left me worried. Would I ever make it out?

I was so tired of being here though! I had to get out! It was cold, it stank, and, worst of all, I hadn't had a cup of tea in who knows how long! It didn't mean much that my leg was broken, but the tea! Oh God how I missed my tea… I could've sworn I beginning to go through withdrawal.

A loud crash from above jolted me from my depressing deliberation. Debris rained down from the old ceiling and muffled shouts rang throughout the basement. It was the loudest noise I'd heard in days.

The yelling and thumps of a fight moved throughout the above house and eventually made its way to the door that led down to my containment center.

When the door flew down the stairs, along with the familiar frame of my captor, I knew America had come for me.

Alfred, as I had grown accustomed to calling him of late, screamed down the stairs;

"Where is he you fucking Looney?"

Russia, who was sitting at the bottom of the steps after being most likely tackled down them, just smiled up at him playfully.

"Tell me now! Arthur is mine! You can't have him!"

"Uhuh, I captured him fair and square. You want him back? Come and get him!"

I watched silently as Alfred, who was shaking with rage, threw himself stupidly down the stairs and right into the wall, as Russia moved quickly out of the way.

Perhaps I hadn't said anything before because I was still so surprised at America's sudden possessiveness at me. He hadn't shown any sort of attachment since he was a boy, besides that one time when I almost died. Therefore, I had thought there was no possible way he could've returned the feelings that had grown quite strongly within me, but now I felt a small surge of hope blossom like a rose on a warm summer day.

"Alfred?" I called out hopefully.

A pause.

"Arthur?"

He whirled around, face still very red from his collision with the wall, and grinned larger than I'd ever seen (and I've seen his smile a lot).

He began to run towards me, but tripped over the door frame sitting awkwardly on the floor.

"Ah! Ooof…"

"…Good to see you too Alfred."

Recovering quickly, he jumped up excitedly and ran over to my cage. He shook the bars and fiddled with the accursed lock that kept me from the outside world.

"Don't bother, just try and get the key away from-"

He ripped the lock off its hinges as if it was mere fabric.

"Great! That was easy." (STAPLES lol)

"…Or you could just do that."

"Come on let's get out of here."

He offered a large hand. I shook my head and gestured at my leg, which was still bent the wrong way.

"Oh. No problem."

Without any warning or apprise, he scooped me into his warm arms and held me close, very close. The heat that radiated off of him drove out any of my lingering worries. He was so damn warm! It was very likely that I was only just now noticing this because I had spent the last few days on cold concrete in a damp and almost freezing basement.

Then I screamed.

"MY LEG! YOU WANKER, MY LEG!" In the process of picking me up, I hadn't noticed my leg being shifted back into a normal position, but now that I had, it felt as if someone was grinding the two bones together and then hammering them with a pick-axe.

His arms loosened for a tiny moment, but soon tightened again. He was ignoring me.

I hissed in pain at him, but he was focused on maneuvering around the debris surrounding us. I prayed he wouldn't drop me.

"Where do you think you're going, da?"

Russia popped out of nowhere with his pipe at the ready. I, not expecting him and already very tense to begin with, punched him in surprise. I hadn't meant too, but my fist had a mind of its own at that moment.

Russia stumbled backwards, blood streaming down his face. He didn't even make a noise, just glared at us with eyes full of malice.

"You two are really going to pay now," he mumbled before he collapsed.

"Wow…you totally knocked him out. That was awesome!"

"Ah! Stop rocking me you prat! Let's just get out of here!"

Outside, Alfred had a snowmobile waiting. He set me down gently and got on behind me. We roared off into the white abyss before us.

Eventually, I gathered the courage to speak.

"Hey…thank you for rescuing me."

"No problem dude! That's what hero's do!"

I leaned back and he stiffened.

"I mean it. Thank you Alfred."

He smiled, beautiful crystal eyes shining down to me.

"Like I said Arthur, that's what friends are for."

"No, you said heroes."

"No I said friends."

"Hero."

"Friends."

"Heroes!"

"Friends!"

It may have sounded like bickering to anyone else, but to me, it meant something entirely deeper and much much more meaningful.


End file.
